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A Gamblers Creed
The Clubhouse was how it usually was in calm times; The Boss was at his desk fiddling with some piece of meat from a recent FBI raid, and the other members were strewn about the parlor, doing as they usually do when Clubhouse wasn’t being locked down or raided But I, of course, am always on the job. Being the main source of money for Clubhouse, it's my job to hit up casinos, back alleys, and any random old peoples’ home for my favorite sport. “How in God's blessed name did a fucking schoolgirl best me?!” I grin a sweet smile, pick up the large burlap sack full of tens and hundreds, and stand up. I start it around my shoulder. “It was lovely, gentlemen.” The men slam down the card on the pavement of the back alley, not a penny in sight near them. They mumble and grumble, swearing under their breaths. I pull out my phone and unlock it. The bright homescreen almost blinds me in the dark night, but I navigate to the messaging system. Queen, 01:43: >Another successful job. Heading back. I smile proud, and climb into the back of a black car. The driver uses backstreets and darkened paths to drive back to the undisclosed location of the Clubhouse. As usual, the looming building meets my eyes as we driveinto the valet. I get out, head into the main lobby, then ride the elevator up to the parlor. The parlor is dark and quiet. The backlights on the wall and in the corners of the floor is the only light illuminati n the room. “Hello?” I call out. My hands go to my purse. Something rustles behind me. A few seconds later, a hand goes to my shoulder. I pull a knife from my purse, turn around, and kick the perpetrator in the chest, knocking them to the floor. I kneel down over them, keeping a knew to their chest to hold them down, and my knife hovers above their face. “Sass, Sass, it’s me!” “Oh my gosh!” I quickly pocket my knife, standing up. “I’m so sorry, boss!” “It's alright.” I help him up and brush off the dirt and mud I got on his pristine suit. “Jumpy tonight?” “Never know when someone might have sent someone to attack. Forgive the, uh…” He chuckles. “Attack?” “Yeah.” I embarrassingly chuckle along. “Attack.” “It's alright. It just means you’re quick with your reflexes.” I set the bag on the small table and open it. “Exactly 2,356 dollars and 8 cents.” His smiles starts to grow. “You went into the gamble with?” “Twenty.” “Excellent.” His smile has grown into a full, devious toothy grin. “You’re doing well for being so new.” “I’m not that new, just some months.” “It's new to some of us.” He sits down on the black leather couch, undoing his tie and pulling off his coat. “I’m aware.” He sighs. “You can go home if you want. Everyone else has.” I look at the bag, to him, then to the phone in my hands. “I might.” “Don’t tell me you want to keep working.” I shrug. I take a few fifties from the bag and put it in my purse. “I’ll see you in the morning.” I place my hand on the doorknob. “Sass, you can’t be serious! I know being in here means doing 110%, but you have to rest sometimes!” “Goodnight, Dem.” I open the door and walk out. As walk down the grey sidewalks of the now quiet city, thoughts race through my mind. Not everyone falls victim into the hands to crime and unlawfulness, but those who do end up there are there for a reason. Rather it be money, a hangout, a group of people like them, or… I glance at the small orphanage, its soft lights inside beckoning any lost souls. I sigh, stuffing my hands in my pockets. …a place to belong.